Vidal's Honor (16 page)

“Ah, yes, you.”
Le duc's
smile slipped from his face. “I have met your brother,” he said, a frown darkening his brow. “And I do not like him. He is an enemy of his country while you are an enemy of mine, just as I am an enemy of Lady Beaumont's…”

When Honor gasped at his brazen admission he turned a brief smile in her direction. “Oh yes, my lady, I say it as it is. In my country I am a hero, while in yours I am considered a traitor. Your friend here, while considered a traitor by many of his compatriots, is a hero in my opinion. You must admit, he works to save the integrity of his country just as I do, just as your husband did, and you.” He held up a hand. “By supporting him with your presence you made him better at his work.”

“I thought I put him at risk,” she muttered.

“Never think so my lady, you did no such thing. Your wretched Earl Wellington did so the moment he requested Lord Beaumont to carry home a personal dispatch and hand it to none other than your Lord Dundas. He sealed your husband's fate.”

He looked directly at her, sadness in his eyes. “And all for nothing.” He smote one fist into the palm of his other hand. “He outwitted us to the very end.” Fury replaced the geniality of seconds ago and he pushed his chair back from the table, storming over to the window.

“I don't understand.” Her words dropped into the silence. Not one of his audience stirred.

For a moment Dumas did not move, then swung round, his features cold, haughty, almost.

“He extracted a promise from that batman of his, and in some sort of penance Phillipe agreed to arrange your safe transport back to England. The rest, as they say, is history.

“It must be special to love someone as you loved your husband… and others love you.” he let his gaze linger briefly on Vidal.“

“I—” Juan's lips lifted in a wry smile. “I devote my life to one mistress. My country. She is more demanding than any wife, and equally as expensive as the most pampered light-o-love, and in return is more likely to watch me hang without a protest. That is my reality, Lady Beaumont.

“As for you…” He looked over at Juan, then at Consuela. “Make the most of your time in England for you will not live too long to enjoy it.”

“And you say this because?” Resting a hand on Consuela's shoulder, Juan rose.

“For the first and last time Chiltern excelled himself. He set the scene as well as I could have wanted and without any help from me. A greedy man, one who met a justifiable end. Of course, the fact he died in Spain while supposedly escorting you home, my lady, will only serve to add credence to his claims that you and his brother were working for the enemy.”

He let the weight of his word hang in the air before turning to Juan and Consuela. “By association you will both be tarred with the same charges of treason, and of course suffer the same consequences.”

He crossed the room and sat down again. “The topic has turned too morbid for such an evening of congenial company. Come, let us eat.”

 

 

“I never thought I'd say this.” Honor's disbelieving laugh filled the coach, “but I miss the freedom we enjoyed while travelling across Spain.”

When Consuela began to protest, Honor raised her hand in acknowledgement. “Yes, I know, we had many moments of discomfort and danger, but I find myself wishing I could ride beside the men. If only Dumas would agree to let us to keep these shutters down all the time, I do believe I wouldn't feel so restricted.” She waved a hand towards the scenery in view since she'd let down the leather shutter for a moment to allow fresh air into the coach. “As far as the eye can see there are hills covered in grape vines, and a house in the distance and yet I feel like screaming. It seems impossible we have travelled so far in so few days.” She craned her head to look back at the mountains they'd crossed and now left behind. “How can I be so...”

Without losing pace, the horses swept to their left, tumbling the passengers in the coach against the side of the vehicle. Open iron gates flashed by and rough track gave way to a well packed drive.

Struggling to sit upright, Consuela swore and straightened her skirts. “He has fooled us,” she spat. “He was too charming and we let him fool us.”

Why, Honor asked silently, had she allowed herself to be persuaded by the man's charm and impeccable courtesy to her and Consuela over the last three days. The bile of betrayal choked her. She watched the house as they drew closer.

“If this is some kind of prison it is the most distinguished I've ever seen,” she said, hope rising again. Flowers and shrubs added colour to the front of the building, and faded green wooden shutters contrasted against the stonework which glowed in the cool winter sunshine.

Another, less affluent structure, stood a short distance away to the left of the main house. Two men, leading a horse pulling a laden cart, appeared round the building and disappeared inside, just as their own vehicle rumbled to a halt.

“It is the wrong time of year to fully enjoy the wine making process, but I thought you may enjoy sampling some of the produce from this area.” Dumas stood by the open carriage door and assisted both women to the ground.

“Wine?” Honor struggled to adjust her thinking. Not a matter of betrayal but an indulgence, an effort by their extraordinary host to share the pleasures of his country with them.

A quick glance at Consuela confirmed she too was having trouble re-assessing the situation.

“I see my surprise has not gone down well, and you expected something less pleasurable. My abject apologies.”
Le duc
helped Honor down from the coach and then offered his hand to Consuela. “I did not mean to alarm you, and see I should have offered you the pleasure of anticipation and so prevented such misconceptions.” All the while he led them towards a rotund little man who was in deep conversation with Vidal and Juan.

With Consuela's hand tucked into his arm Gervaise Dumas cast a rueful smile in her direction. “I gather from his enthusiasm, your friend knows about growing wine?”

“I'm not sure how much of an expert Juan is, but he talks knowledgeably about it.”

Had he? Honor couldn't remember and wondered whether the subject had come up on one of the two occasions she'd held up their progress due to illness or injury. Dumas spoke the truth; she'd never seen the Spaniard so animated.

“You are a strange man.” Unaware she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, Honor almost bumped into him when Dumas stopped and turned to her.

“Why so?” he asked, and offered a look of regret. “Do you assume I cannot like, or respect, my enemy?”

When she simply stared at his unexpected comment he patted her arm and laughed. “Come now, my lady. Because of your late husband's work I have been aware of the healing and compassion you offered the soldiers, night after night. Indeed, I gather you even sat with some prisoners when your commander permitted it.”

“They were frightened young men who feared dying more than the consequences of living. If I still had their things I would have given them to you to pass on to their families.”

For a while neither said any more as they both knew the items had been left behind when she fled the camp with Phillipe. They watched Consuela join the men and at a leisurely pace followed them.

“If we'd met at any other time, we could all have been friends, do you not agree?”

“I do believe you are right,” she looked up and joined in with his laughter.

“Care to share the joke?”

Her amusement faded at the edge in Vidal's voice. “No joke, just possibilities.” With that she laid her hand on
le duc's
arm and allowed him to introduce her to the viticulturist.

They stayed for more than an hour, sampled several different wines, and shared a simple meal put on by the owner's wife.

As they walked back to the coach Honor stopped to soak up the vision of the sunshine on the distant snow-capped mountains.

“This is a beautiful place,” she told the owner and smiled when he agreed.

With a courtesy that matched
le duc's,
he handed Honor and Consuela back into the coach. “We do not get many visitors these days. Thank you for coming.” He stepped back and the crack of the groom's whip had the horses surging forward.

“He has all that land and a business to run and is probably unsure how long his customers will keep buying. I wonder whether it is much affected by the war.” Consuela hung out of the aperture until the house was no longer visible.

“As a girl I dreamed of living in a place like this.” She settled back and straightened out the folds of her skirt. “Tell me about your home.”

“At the moment I'm not sure where my home is.” Honor voiced the thoughts occupying her mind for the last couple of days.

“I do not understand. How can you invite me to stay with you if you have no home?”

“It is your choice, Consuela. You can come with me once I know whether I am entitled to return to Devlin's estate, or you can stay with Juan.”

“No I cannot, for Juan has accepted your lord Vidal's offer to stay with him, and it would not be right for a woman to remain in a gentleman's home unchaperoned. Even I know it would be frowned upon in your country.”

“There is that,” Honor said, as though the idea had never occurred to her. “You had better come with me then. I am sure we can find somewhere to settle. Or do you have friends who would take you in?”

Somehow she doubted Vidal would leave her to find her own way once they reached Plymouth, but if she didn't know where her home might be, how could he escort her anywhere else?

“Perhaps we can find a house to share in London. Would you like that?” If, as seemed likely, Lord Dundas and his friends doubted her integrity, they would demand she base herself in Town for the foreseeable future until she cleared her name. If he'd lived, would they have listened to Phillipe's version of events of that fateful morning? The outcome would have lead to the inevitable. They'd have hanged him for betraying one of their own.

It took a moment for Consuela's words to penetrate her sombre thoughts.

“Look at the crush of vehicles! Where do you think we are?”

“Vidal mentioned something about Bordeaux. But since
le duc's
addition to our party he's hardly spoken to me. I thought he said we would have to avoid the place for fear of recognition, but perhaps Dumas has changed his mind.”

The number of vehicles jostling for position reminded her of London at the height of the Season. A yearning, so sharp it stole her breath, lodged in her throat. It hit her as the horses wove their way through the mêlée of so many different kinds of coaches and carriages. She realised how much she missed her home. Had her love for Devlin overridden her love of home? And if it had, why did she long for the sound of Vidal's voice? He'd barely spoken to her since they'd crossed into France, indeed had scarcely glanced her way. Not that she'd looked out for it. So why did her heart skip a beat at his approach so soon after losing Devlin?